


did it hurt when you fell from heaven?

by kaleidoscopestars



Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, M/M, Magic, ft. bad pick up lines and bad writing, thats it thats the whole fic, yanjun works in a bakery and zhangjing is a witch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 17:44:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16022831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaleidoscopestars/pseuds/kaleidoscopestars
Summary: yanjun acts first and thinks second. sometimes it works out in his favor and sometimes it doesn't





	did it hurt when you fell from heaven?

**Author's Note:**

> BENJI! THIS ONES FOR YOU!
> 
> disclaimer: this is an adaptation of a much longer fic that is currently sitting in my drafts at well over 10k words w/ much more developed characters and an actual plot. however, I wanted to be able to post smth today and since that one is no where near finished here we are. also this is my first ipd fic so i have no idea what im doing lol

It happens on a Monday.

Morning light looks soft like this, filtering in between the gaps in the blinds. Pale gold and so unlike the usual blazing August sun that Yanjun can almost forget that it’s still summer. It throws the inside of the small bakery into a mosaic of shadows and he smiles to himself as he hops down off his stool behind the counter and flips to sign on the door from ‘Closed’ to ‘Open’. Already he can feel exhaustion weighing him down, he hadn’t managed to get much sleep the night before and he’s had to get to work early today because it was his turn to open up.

Every day was like this. Boringly repetitive. Go to work, go to class, finish all the essays he’s left piling up until the last minute, and then rinse and repeat. Mundane in the worst sort of way. His life had fallen into the sort of monotonous rhythm that Yanjun had never anticipated when he was younger. Weirdly he’d always thought that he’d be changing the world in wildly dramatic ways and had never stopped to think about the logistics of student loans and paying bills. And now here he was.

He doesn’t hate his job, far from it. He loves the bakery and its peaceful atmosphere; it’s like an oasis in the middle of his fairly hectic life. To a certain extent, he enjoys making drinks and talking to the few customers who aren’t asleep on their feet or in a rush to get to somewhere infinitely more important. He even tolerates his coworkers. Mostly. With a couple of exceptions.

Idly, he swings his legs back and forth, eyes skimming over the room. In the corner of the room, a houseplant is beginning to wilt slightly, its leaves turning mottled brown. He should probably water that at some point. The clock on the wall reads 8:15, it’s been running half an hour fast for months now but no one can be bothered to get the step ladder out of the store cupboard to get the clock down off the wall and fix it, and so they just live in their own time zone.

And either the clock has got worse or Dinghao is late for his shift. Again. 

The bell on the door chimes softly and a boy walks in. He’s about Yanjun’s age, maybe older, maybe younger, but definitely shorter. _And he’s cute_ Yanjun’s brain supplies helpfully. Like really, really cute. If this was a movie the sunlight would illuminate him from behind like a halo and a chorus of angels would start singing. But sadly this isn’t a movie and all that happens is that Yanjun stares at him, mouth hanging wide open, for probably a bit longer than is socially acceptable. 

“Sorry,” The boy says, flustered, “Are you not open yet? I can come back in a bit.” He points over his shoulder back the way he came from, his hand hanging in the air like a question mark.

Yanjun shakes his head slightly to try and snap himself out of his trance “Don’t worry, we’re open.”

The boy chews his lip in thought, staring intently at the board with all the drinks listed on it. Outside cars rumble past and a lone bird sings an unsteady tune.

“Okay, please can I have a peppermint tea to go.”

Yanjun can’t stop himself from raising an eyebrow at that. He doesn’t think he’s ever had anyone apart from old ladies order peppermint tea before, but each to their own. He nods and sorts through the till to find the correct change for the crumpled note that the boy hands over. 

Turning around, he pulls a disposable cup off the stack next to the coffee machine and throws a tea bag into it before sticking it under the hot water and jabbing a button. The whole thing only takes a few seconds, but he’s agonisingly aware of the boy’s eyes following his movements and it makes it seem like it takes hours. He jams a lid onto the cup and slides it across the counter to the boy.

“Thank you.” He says with a grin, his eyes crinkle slightly at the corners and it makes his entire face light up. If this was a movie, there’d be slow motion and the focus of the scene would be entirely on the boy’s face, everything else would just be a blur in the background.

Yanjun’s brain short circuits. He opens his mouth to reply, to say something along the lines of ‘You’re welcome!’ or ‘Have a nice day!’ but his brain to mouth filter malfunctions and what comes out instead is “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” 

The boy blinks owlishly at him for several seconds “I’ve lived in this city my entire life?” He finally says, frowning in confusion. At least Yanjun hopes that it’s confusion. Deafening silence stretches out between them and envelopes the cafe. Yanjun can hear the clock on the wall tick, each second excruciatingly slow.

“I meant- nevermind, have a nice day.”

“You too?” The boy replies and leaves, the door swings shut behind him like the lid of Yanjun’s coffin. 

It takes a second for the embarrassment of last few minutes hits him like a freight train and he groans, putting his head in his hands. That couldn’t have possibly gone any worse. He couldn’t possibly have made a worse impression, it’ll take a miracle now for the boy to come back. Which is a shame really, he’s cute and had a nice smile and Yanjun didn’t even manage to get his name. Then again, maybe it’s best if he never comes back. If he does Yanjun will just make a fool of himself again and then he’ll have to change his name and move across the country. There’s no possible way this could get any worse. 

Quiet laughter interrupts his pity party and Yanjun whips his head round to see Dinghao standing by the door with his apron thrown over his shoulder and a wicked grin plastered across his face. 

Yanjun had been wrong, this could get worse.

Yanjun glares at him “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough.” Dinghao replies brightly, “You might’ve realised if you weren’t so busy making a fool of yourself.”

Yanjun flings a dishcloth at him. It misses and hits the wall behind him with a faint splat. 

 

The rest of the day continues as normal, more customers arrive and then leave, Yanjun makes drinks until he feels like his hands are about to fall off, Dinghao spills a cappuccino all over the floor and leaves Yanjun to clean it up. Eventually, the clock hits 3 and Chaoze walks in with a frown plastered across his face and his apron untied.

“I’m not even meant to be working today,” He whines as he takes Yanjun’s place behind the counter “It’s meant to be my day off, but Wenjun is sick and I didn’t think enough before I agreed to cover his shift. I was trying to be a nice friend but I really don’t get paid enough to be here 7 days a week.”

“I thought you liked working here,” Dinghao says, cutting into Chaoze’s rant. He has half a croissant stuffed into his mouth and his voice is muffled. Yanjun briefly wonders where the hell he managed to get that from and then decides it’s better not to ask. If Dinghao’s been stealing food from the kitchens again then it’s Chaoze’s job to deal with it and not his. 

Chaoze glares at him “I like working any shift that _isn’t_ with you.”

“As interesting as this conversation is, I should get going now,” Yanjun says, pulling his bag out from where he’d shoved it underneath the counter. “Have fun!”

Chaoze sticks his middle finger up in reply.

 

 

As soon as he gets back to his apartment he flops face first onto his bed, not bothering to take his jacket off first. He’s so tired that he could sleep for a millennium, or maybe two. Possibly even three. The concept of a coma definitely sounds more appealing than it should right now. Or maybe running away to some distant continent to live in a tiny farmhouse and raise sheep so that he never has to deal with a single responsibility ever again.

“How was your day?” His roommate, Zhengting, asks. He’s leaning on the doorframe eating blueberry yogurt out of a pot and his hair is wet from the shower and sticking up in about fifty different directions. 

Yanjun just grunts in response and he feels the mattress dip as Zhengting sits down next to him.

“Like that huh?”

“Aren’t you meant to be somewhere else?” Yanjun asks, still not bothering to sit up. He isn’t in the mood for Zhengting’s endless chattering.

“Nope.” Zhengting says happily, crossing his legs and balancing the pot of yogurt on his knee so that he can poke Yanjun in the side with both hands “No classes today. Get up, It’s your turn to do the dishes and Justin is coming over in a bit.”

“Just Justin?” Yanjun asks. Zhengting’s friends are obnoxiously loud and also kind of a package deal. If you invite one of them round, you’ll inevitably end up with all six balanced on your couch and raiding your fridge. Not that Yanjun really cares, they’re his friends by proxy and they’re fun. Most of the time. At least when they aren’t giving him a headache.

Zhengting hums in thought “Maybe Chengcheng as well, and Xinchun. And possibly Dinghao if he tags along with Xinchun. Oh, and I asked Quanzhe if he wanted to come, but he said he wasn’t sure.” That sounds more likely.

Yanjun groans in annoyance at the thought of having to deal with Dinghao for the second time in one day and Zhengting hits him lightly on the arm and then gets up, Yanjun makes a great show of groaning in pain and clutching at his arm as if he’s been mortally wounded before following Zhengting out of the room and into the tiny kitchen.

 

The next morning, Yanjun wakes up late. Or rather, he doesn’t wake up. He manages to sleep through every single one of his alarms until Zhengting stumbles into his room blurry eyed and repeatedly smacks him with a pillow.

“Turn that shit off,” He says when Yanjun finally jolts awake “Some of us are still trying to sleep.”

Yanjun glances at the time on his phone before swearing loudly and pushing past Zhengting, grabbing his uniform off the back of the chair in the corner and pulling it on, not caring that Zhengting is still in the room. He silently prays that Chaoze isn’t the one working the morning shift with him today, or Yanjun probably won’t live to see another sunrise. There’s no time to shower or style his hair or do anything other than grab his glasses off his bedside table and sprint out of the front door.

He runs the whole way there, regretting every decision that’s ever brought him to this moment in his life. It isn’t far, but he hasn’t run properly since he was in high school and it’s enough to leave him winded by the time he finally gets to the bakery.

“You’re late,” Yanchen says when Yanjun crashes through the door, but he’s grinning so widely that it’s clear that he doesn’t actually care. It’s like looking directly into the sun and it's all that Yanjun can do to not get dazzled.

“Sorry,” Yanjun says, as soon as he’s finished gasping for air “I slept through my alarm.”

“It’s cool,” Yanchen fills a glass with water and hands it to him, Yanjun accepts it gratefully with a small nod of thanks “Stuff like that happens. We haven’t been open for long and it’s been pretty quiet so far. Do you mind manning the till while I go and get some stuff from the stockroom?”

“Sure thing.” Yanjun replies and Yanchen gives him another grin and a quick thumbs up. He takes Yanchen’s place behind the counter and glances around the room. It’s mostly empty, there are a couple of students sitting in the armchairs by the window, furiously typing on their laptops and someone sitting next to the houseplant, stirring their coffee with one hand and saying something into their phone. The plant looks even more pitiful than yesterday and Yanjun winces slightly when he remembers that he had meant to water it before they opened that morning.

He leans his elbows on the surface in front of him and rests his head in his hands. Now that the adrenaline from his mad dash to work is fading he feels drained to his core. It’s almost all his fault, he’d stayed up until the early hours of the morning talking with Dinghao and Zhengting and yelling at Justin every time he got too close to anything that looked even mildly breakable. Of course, he could just blame the everything on Zhengting for inviting them over in the first place. Yeah, he thinks to himself, that works. Everything is Zhengting’s fault and Yanjun is just an unfortunate bystander in his own life.

He’s so deep in thought that he doesn’t notice the bell on the door ring, doesn’t notice someone walk in and doesn’t notice them standing right in front of him until they clear their throat loudly. It sounds less like a cough and more like a small explosion. Yanjun jumps backwards, his heart racing and a shout of surprise stuck in his throat.

It’s the boy from yesterday, he’s standing there with his arms crossed across his chest, tapping his foot on the floor. He’s shorter than Yanjun remembers and Yanjun goes to open his mouth to point this out, but thinks better of it right at the last second.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.” He says instead.

“Yeah, I got that already.” The boy replies. His mouth is pressed into a straight line, but there’s a smile tugging at one corner and it completely shatters the pissed off facade that he’s trying to pull off.

Yanjun runs his hands over his apron, smoothing out nonexistent creases.”What can I get you?”

“Peppermint tea to go, please.”

Same as yesterday. 

It’s awkwardly silent as he makes the drinks, he’s so used to Dinghao and Justin and their nonstop talk that any silence makes him feel as if he has ants crawling all over his skin. It’s not so much the silence itself, more the uncertainty of how to break it. He searches his mind for a topic of conversation as he waits for the cup to fill with hot water. The weather? No, he’d been in such a rush that morning that the sky could’ve been on fire and he wouldn’t have noticed. News headlines? Yeah right, as if he’d had time to read anything other than textbooks in years. In the end, all he can come up with is a litany of awful pickup lines and, well, he’d already made a fool of himself by blurting one out yesterday, so he might as well be consistent.

“I’m no mathematician, but I’m pretty good with numbers. Tell you what, give me yours and watch what I can do with it.” He says with what he’s pretty sure is a winning smile.

“What number?” The boy asks, “House number? Bank account? Are you trying to run some sort of shitty credit card scam? If you are you should really be more subtle about it.”

Yanjun curses at himself internally for even starting to think that this may have been a good idea. Good thing that Dinghao isn’t here today as well or Yanjun would never live this down. Even after he died, Dinghao would probably still find a way to mock him. “I meant your phone number.”

“Oh. Sorry, I don’t have a phone.” 

Yanjun can’t think of anything to say in response so he shrugs and hands the drink over. He lets it go too soon. Before the other boy can properly get a hold of it, and it slips through his fingers. Yanjun sees his whole life flash before his eyes, and honestly, he’s pretty disappointed by how boring it is. The highlight of it all is the talent show he won in seventh grade.

Weirdly, the cup seems to hang perfectly still in the air for a split second. Like in cartoons when a character runs off a cliff and they stay in the same spot, legs windmilling before they realise that they aren’t on solid ground anymore and plummet down. It’s long enough for the boy to reach forward and grab it. Yanjun just stares.

“Good thing that I have fast reflexes.” The boy says, his laugh sounds oddly forced.

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

 

 

It sort of becomes a thing after that. Every morning the boy comes in to buy tea and every morning Yanjun tries some new stupid pickup line in an attempt to get him to laugh. Because really, what does he have to lose at this point? Most of the time all he gets in response is a blank stare, or occasionally an exasperated sigh. He counts those as a win, any reaction is better than no reaction.

“Your dignity?” Chaoze says when Yanjun tells him. It’s about a week after Yanjun almost-but-not-quite dropped the drink and Chaoze isn’t technically working today, but he’d stopped by anyway on the way to class.

“He doesn’t have any dignity.” Dinghao pipes up, loading cups into the dishwasher.

Yanjun fights the urge to hit him over the head with something heavy, he can’t talk if he’s unconscious after all “Did I ask for your opinion on this?”

“You did when you opened your mouth and started talking.” Dinghao says, abandoning the dishwasher and leaning on the counter next to Yanjun and across from Chaoze “You don’t get a choice. Someone has to be the voice of reason.”

 

“Thank you for taking on that responsibility,” Chaoze says dryly. “I’m so glad that you decided to step up.”

Either Dinghao doesn’t notice the amount of sarcasm in his voice, or he just doesn’t care. Both possibilities are equally likely.

“Do you even know his name?” Dinghao asks “It’s usually considered polite to ask someone for their name before harassing them with bad pickup lines.” As usual, Dinghao is hideously wrong, but Yanjun won’t achieve anything by pointing this out to him. Apart from maybe digging his own grave even deeper than he’s already managed to.

Yanjun coughs awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck and fixing his eyes on the floor. It isn’t his fault that he’s never managed to ask for the boy’s name. Their conversation never ranges beyond “Hello,”, “Goodbye,”, and Yanjun’s pickup line of the day.

“I’m guessing that’s a no,” Chaoze says “It’s not like it’s hard to just _ask_.”

“I just never got round to it,” Yanjun feels an awful lot like he’s just making pointless excuses at this point “It didn’t seem important.”

 

On the way to work the next morning, Yanjun makes a promise to himself to ask for the boy’s name. If only to get his friends to shut up. Of course, the universe hates him, and as soon as he makes it in through the door, Yanchen drags him off to help organise the stockroom. It takes longer than planned and minutes tick by as they take lists of ingredients and shuffle shelves around until Yanchen finally decides that everything is in a logical order and they can leave for another month. Yanjun finally traipses back out to the till just past 9am, he’s probably missed the boy by at least twenty minutes and he can’t help but feel a bit annoyed.

To his surprise, the boy is still there. Crouched in the corner by the plant. Yanjun can’t tell exactly what he’s doing, it almost looks like he’s stroking one of the leaves? Weird, but definitely not the weirdest thing he’s seen customers doing.

“Hey,” Yanjun calls “Were you waiting?”

The boy jumps as if he’s been caught doing something illegal.

“Sorry,” He says, walking up to the counter and handing over his money “There wasn’t anyone to take my order, so I was trying to figure out what kind of plant it was while I was waiting.” HIs explanation sounds flat as if he doesn’t even really believe it himself, but Yanjun is far too tired for critical thinking. 

The boy doesn’t even have to tell Yanjun his order anymore, he has it memorised. Not that it's exactly difficult to remember.

“Beats me,” Yanjun replies with a lazy shrug, “My coworker said he got it from a sale at a gardening store, but I have a feeling that he just nicked it from his neighbour's garden or something instead.” He really can’t imagine Dinghao actually spending money on a _plant_ of all things.

“You should water it more often.” The boy says.

As if Yanjun doesn’t already know that.

“Is your name Google? Because you have everything I’ve been searching for.” Yanjun blurts out as he gives the boy his drink. It’s his dumb attempt at changing the subject to something that isn’t his inability to keep a houseplant alive and thankfully it works. 

“Actually, it’s Zhangjing,” He says with a small smile, then waves goodbye and rushes off before Yanjun can think of a reply.

At the base of the plant, where Zhangjing had touched it, the brown leaves have turned a vibrant green. Yanjun blames it on coincidence and shrugs it off.

 

Zhangjing is later than normal the next day, he steps in through the door at just past 10, shaking rain off his coat. The sky outside is a dreary, murky grey and water flows in tiny rivers down the side of the road. His hair is plastered flat to his head, the usual curls turned lifeless, and when he pushes his fringe back out of his eyes it stays stuck there, sticking up on end.

“Lovely weather out there today,” As conversation starters go it’s embarrassingly dumb, but it’s better than nothing and Yanjun is proud of himself for not making a complete idiot of himself within the first second of opening his mouth. Character development, no matter how small, is still development.”

“Tell me about it,” Zhangjing replies with a small smile, “It’s hard to imagine that it was sunny yesterday.”

“Same as normal?” Yanjun asks, already pulling a tea bag out of the pot on the shelf and Zhangjing nods. “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Yanjun hasn’t been _meaning_ to do anything. He lives his life impulsively, never planning more than a few seconds ahead. “Why do you always come here at the same time every day?”

“I pass by on my way to work.” 

Yanjun feels a bit disappointed by that, but he isn’t sure why. It’s a perfectly reasonable explanation and honestly, what other reasons were there? It’s unlikely he comes there for the high standard of the drinks they serve (Yanjun is pretty sure that you can buy the same tea for a fraction of the price at a supermarket) and it definitely isn’t for the ambiance (Zhangjing never stays for more than a few minutes). Which only leaves convenience. 

“And there was me thinking that you kept coming back to see me.” He quips with a dramatic wink. It’s over the top, and cheesy, and the only way he can think of to box up the weird uneasy feeling in his chest and shove it to one side so that he can pretend it doesn’t exist.

An unreadable expression crosses Zhangjing’s face, but it’s gone almost before Yanjun has time to notice it and then Zhangjing is snorting with laughter.

“Keep saying things like that and I’ll never come back.” He says, pointing at Yanjun to emphasise his point.

“As if you could stay away from me,” Yanjun is vaguely aware of Chaoze standing behind him, no doubt staring daggers into the back of his head for wasting time talking to customers when there are tables that need to be wiped down and Yanjun _still_ hasn’t finished cleaning out the fridge like he’s been saying he will for the last week.

“We’ll see,” Zhangjing’s eyes crinkle up slightly when he smiles and whatever smart retort Yanjun had been thinking of slips out of his mind like water through fingers. He can’t help but stare, and he keeps staring long after Zhangjing has disappeared down the street and out of sight.

A loud cough makes him jump. Chaoze is tapping his foot on the floor like a metronome, arms crossed and a scowl pulling his eyebrows together. 

“What was that?” He asks, his tone makes Yanjun feels as if he’s walking on a glass floor that’s about to shatter the moment he puts his foot in the wrong place and send him plummeting to his untimely death.

“Nothing,” Yanjun says, he tries to come off a cool and collected, but it sounds awkward and uncertain even to his own ears. If he can’t convince himself how on earth is he meant to convince Chaoze? There’s a reason that they’ve been friends for so long and it’s that Chaoze can see straight through Yanjun’s bullshit as if he was made of nothing more than smoke and tissue paper. “We were just talking.”

“Can you please act like a normal human being,” Chaoze groans, dragging his hands down his face and knocking his glasses to one side in the process “Is that really too much to ask?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I _mean_ that you’ve been awkwardly half-flirting with him every single morning since he first set foot through the door and you need to do something about it.”

“No, I haven’t,” Yanjun replies, picking up a cloth and sullenly wiping down the coffee machine, blindly hoping that Chaoze will give up and go away. Because he honest to god hasn’t been half-flirting or flirting at all.

“I have eyes. And so do Dinghao and Yanchen.” Chaoze, it seems, has no intention of leaving Yanjun alone.  
“It’s just friendly conversation, the pickup lines are a running joke or whatever,” Yanjun says.

Chaoze tilts his head to one side and looks at him skeptically, Yanjun feels like a bug being examined under a magnifying glass and he has to fight the urge to crack a stupid joke or do something even more stupid like running out of the room before Chaoze delivers his verdict.

“I know you.” Chaoze says finally, “You don’t do…” He gestures at Yanjun, waving his hands around in Yanjun’s general direction “...This. You normally have enough common sense to not try out your jokes on the customers. And when you do use dumb pickup lines it’s for the shock factor, and then once you’ve done it once you move on. You don’t get flustered and you definitely don’t get nervous around people.”

“No, I don’t,” Yanjun says stubbornly. He gives up on pretending to clean and instead mirrors Chaoze’s pose. “This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Sure it doesn’t. And I haven’t known you for three years and I definitely don’t know how you act when you have a hopeless crush.”

 

When Yanjun gets home that evening, he finds Justin lying upside down on the couch with his feet sticking straight up in the air and his head resting on the ground. 

“How did you get in here?” Yanjun asks, narrowing his eyes in suspicion as he frowns at Justin. He drops his keys into the ugly little bowl that sits on their coffee table and shrugs off his jacket, leaving it crumpled on the floor. The textbooks in his bag hit the floor with a worrying _thud_. Justin grins at him, wide and mischievous.

“Zhengting gave me a spare key for emergencies.” His face looks squashed from this angle and it’s slowly turning the colour of a ripe tomato.

“What’s the emergency?” Yanjun asks. It doesn’t look like anyone’s dying and short of the world actually ending he doesn’t think that there’s any other emergency that would warrant Justin invading his home.

“Not sure.” Justin replies, scrunching up his nose “Chengcheng!” He shouts at the top of his lungs. It’s way too loud considering that Yanjun’s apartment is barely big enough to swing a cat in and the walls are so thin that they might as well be made from paper mache.

Chengcheng pokes his head out of the kitchen, he has a beanie pulled all the way down over his eyebrows and he looks ridiculous. He gives Justin a questioning look before finally noticing Yanjun. Clutching a box of coco puffs to his chest, he waves at him with his free hand. 

“Yanjun wants to know why we’re here,” Justin explains, spinning around so that he can lie stretched out along the full length of the couch, smiling even wider at Yanjun’s exasperated expression. It’s like he thrives off of chaos and disappointment.

“Oh, that.” Chengcheng has to consider it for a second, “Not sure. It was your idea.”

Yanjun opens his mouth to yell at Justin- he isn’t sure what exactly he’s planning on saying, he’s just going to wing it- when Zhengting walks in through the door and cuts him short. 

“So,” Zhengting says with a glimmer in his eye that can only mean bad things for Yanjun. “I was talking to Chaoze just now. Anything that you want to tell me?”

“Yeah, Yanjun,” Justin echoes “Anything you want to tell us?” Chengcheng gives up on whatever he’s doing with the cereal and joins Justin, both of them standing behind Zhengting as if they can intimidate Yanjun into telling them. Zhengting doesn’t even blink at their presence in the apartment, either he already knew or Justin and Chengcheng break in more often than Yanjun thought.

“When did you even see Chaoze?” Yanjun asks, not because he actually cares, but because he’s willing to do anything to get away from where this conversation might be headed.

“I stopped by the bakery on the way home to see if Wenjun was there. He left his jacket here the other day. Anyway, that’s not important.”

“I don’t have anything to tell you.” Yanjun shrugs and puts his hands in his pockets, all fake nonchalance and confidence so thin that it’s practically nonexistent “Whatever Chaoze said is a lie.”

 

But it isn’t. Really. If Chaoze said what Yanjun’s almost certain that he said. Yanjun doesn’t really get a chance to think about it until hours later, when he’s lying in bed, wide awake and staring at the ceiling. He had spent the rest of the evening evading Zhengting’s questions with a mix of silence and blunt excuses about half finished essays and important assignments. Justin and Chengcheng had been more insistent, refusing to take no for an answer and bugging him continuously until Yanjun had chased them out of the flat, threatening to change the locks.

And now, when he’s surrounded by nothing but darkness and the muted sounds of the city outside his window, he’s forced to face the fact that maybe. Just maybe. It is actually a crush.

The word sounds weirdly juvenile. It reminds him of high school and secrets whispered in corridors on the way to class and a time in his life that he’s long since outgrown. But there’s no other way to describe it, not really. No other name to give the butterflies in his stomach and his inexplicable nervousness whenever he sees Zhangjing. No other way to explain the awkward conversation and the way he laughs too often and the things Zhangjing says on the odd occasions when they actually manage a stilted conversation instead of an awkward silence and Yanjun’s jokes falling flat.

Yanjun has always been kind of oblivious when it comes to his feelings, to the point where it seems that everyone else has it figured out before he manages to even begin to wrap his head around it. And whilst he might have left high school behind, this has stuck with him.

 

He doesn’t see Zhangjing for a few days, which is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because he doesn’t have to face Zhangjing whilst he’s in the midst of trying to figure out exactly what he’s feeling and a curse because it just leaves him to overthink. Mondays are his only day off, and then on Tuesday he ends up swapping his morning shift for Yanchen’s closing one, he isn’t really sure why. Yanchen’s reason went in through one ear and straight out the other. Much like everything did these days, as if there was nothing but dust and cobwebs inside Yanjuns head, as Dinghao likes to say way more often than necessary.

 

The plant in the corner is finally coming back to life. Dead leaves have fallen to the floor, replaced by green buds.

“Did you water it?” Yanjun asks Dinghao. He’s been meaning to, he really has, but between life and other things he keeps on forgetting.

“Nope,” Dinghao says, it’s a slow morning and he’s sitting in the corner of the bakery typing on his phone, feet resting on the table on the table in front of him. The mop and bucket he’s meant to be using to clean the floor lie forgotten next to him “I always thought it was fake.”

It was probably someone else who watered it then, Yanchen seems like the sort of person who’d know about plants and Chaoze is fairly sensible when he’s not seconds away from locking Dinghao in a supply closet. 

Outside the leaves on the trees are beginning to turn orange, the wind sweeping them from the trees and scattering them onto the pavement. The bell on the door rings as Zhangjing walks in, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“Long time no see,” Yanjun says and Zhangjing’s smile is the sun breaking through clouds on a rainy day.

“Not long enough,” Zhangjing replies as he digs through his pocket for his wallet. Behind Zhangjing, Yanjun can see Dinghao fake gagging.

“I know that you don’t mean that, who wouldn’t miss me.” 

“I wouldn’t,” Dinghao yells, not looking up from his phone. Yanjun is glad that there aren’t any customers in the bakery apart from Zhangjing to see him throw a roll of paper towels at Dinghao’s head. He manages to duck in time and they go sailing past him, but it’s the thought that counts.

Zhangjing starts laughing, his whole face creasing up and his hands covering his mouth. Shoulders shaking as he tries to calm himself down. It’s infectious, and Yanjun finds himself laughing too. A voice at the back of his head points out that this is the first time he’s seen Zhangjing laugh properly, before this it’s only been awkward laughter, thin and airy, or annoyed snorts at Yanjun’s slightly more ridiculous jokes. 

Picking up a marker pen, Yanjun doodles a little smiley face on the side of the cup and then tacks on a little heart next to it, because why the hell not. 

“Are you a magician?” He asks as he gives Zhangjing the cup. To his surprise Zhangjing jumps slightly, his eyes go wide and he takes a small step back from Yanjun.

“What?” He sounds nervous, it’s barely noticeable, just a lilt in his voice, emphasis on the wrong parts of the words. But it’s definitely there, and Yanjun can’t help but feel confused, he thought Zhangjing was used to this by now. Against the little bit of common sense he has, he decides to finish the line.

“Because when I look at you, everyone else disappears.” 

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense,” Zhangjing blushes slightly and scratches the back of his neck, looking anywhere in the bakery but at Yanjun’s face “I don’t mean it makes _sense_ I just mean that I forgot about the thing you always do and I got confused and yeah…” He trails off awkwardly. “Sorry.”

There’s a pause, the silence is so loud that it echoes in Yanjuns ears, and then the door clatters open and Zhengting barrels in. His coat is hanging off one shoulder and he’s holding a slice of toast in one hand. Yanjun is thankful for the interruption, but why did it have to be Zhengting of all people?

“Hey, Yanjun.” He says, stuffing an impressive amount of toast into his mouth, there are crumbs sticking to his cheeks. “Can I have an Americano, and you better use your staff discount for me or I’m sending that video of you from Halloween to everyone I know.”

“Hi, Zhengting, nice to see you too. Work’s been great so far this morning, thanks for asking.” Zhengting doesn’t pay any attention to him. 

“Zhangjing! I didn’t notice you.” He wraps one arm around Zhangjing in a weird side hug, careful not to spill any of Zhangjing’s tea and Zhangjing smiles at him fondly before pulling away.

“I should get going. The shop isn’t going to open itself.”

“Okay, I’ll see you in a bit,” Zhengting says, waving with his free hand. Yanjun watches in stunned silence, the cogs in his brain whirring on overdrive, trying to piece together what’s happening. He doesn’t realise that he hasn’t said anything until the door clicks shut and Zhengting clears his throat, jolting Yanjun back into reality. From the expression on Zhengting’s face, it’s clear that he expects some sort of explanation. But Yanjun doesn’t owe him one.

“You guys know each other?” He finally manages to choke out when it no longer feels like his brain is a laptop with too many programs running.

“Of course we do,” Zhengting’s expression is thoughtful, calculating, he’s piecing together a puzzle and Yanjun doesn’t want to know what the final picture is going to be “We work together. I’ve mentioned him before.” Yanjun must look like his focus is somewhere else, and honestly, it is, because Zhengting snaps his fingers in front of Yanjun’s face “Do you ever listen to anything I say?”

“Only half the time,” Yanjun replies.

Zhengting doesn’t seem at all perturbed by that. It most likely comes from the majority of his friends constantly disregarding every word that comes out of his mouth. “So how do you know him then?”

“He comes in every morning.” 

Something clicks into place in Zhengting’s head, the penny finally dropping, and he grins in a way that’s all teeth and bad news “That must mean that he’s… and you’re…”

“We’re what?” Yanjun snaps, his temper close to breaking. He’s had enough of feeling like he’s constantly out of the loop.

“Have you ever asked him _why_ he comes in here?” Zhengting pulls up one of the stools from further along the counter and perches in it, elbows on the surface in front of him, chin in his hands, eyes boring holes into the back of Yanjun’s head as he pulls empty milk cartons from the fridge and tosses them into the trash.

“It’s on his way to work?” Yanjun replies, confused, because why does it really matter and why does Zhengting care.

“Are you dumb.” Zhengting says scathingly and Yanjun blinks in surprise because he has no idea where this is coming from “Are you actually stupid? You know where I work. It’s halfway across the city.”

“And?” Yanjun still doesn’t know what Zhengting is getting at. It’s not like Zhengting stating random facts is going to make Yanjun suddenly realise the point he’s trying to make, it’s more likely to do the exact opposite.

Zhengting sighs, long and drawn out, running his hands through his hair “Zhangjing owns the shop,” He says very slowly, enunciating every syllable as if Yanjun is a little kid “He lives in the flat above it. All he has to do to get to work is _walk down a flight of stairs. _”__

__“Oh,” Yanjun says simply. His mind is a whirlwind of confusion, thoughts tumbling over each other and moving too fast for him to put two and two together “Then why?”_ _

__“You’re so dense,” Zhengting groans, hitting his head on the counter with a quiet thud. He doesn’t bother sitting up again, instead, he stays there with his forehead pressed against the fake marble “And that’s a lot coming from me when I’ve known Chengcheng for seven years.” Dinghao snickers madly at that, whatever he had been looking at on his phone is long forgotten._ _

__“If you leave him to guess we’ll be here all day,” Dinghao says, dragging the mop back behind the counter. Yanjun aims a kick at his shins, but Dinghao is just out of reach._ _

__“He keeps coming back to see you.” Zhengting says finally, “And I know that because he won’t shut up about the cute barista he met at some coffee place. ‘Course I always thought he meant the one just down the street from the shop.”_ _

__Yanjun makes a weird spluttering noise, choking on air. This definitely wasn’t how he’d thought his day would go. “He _what_?”_ _

__“Is that the time? I should get going. Bye, guys!” Zhengting makes a great show of pulling up his sleeve and staring at his wrist before legging it._ _

__“You aren’t wearing a watch!” Yanjun protests, but Zhengting is already halfway out of the door and he doesn’t bother looking back._ _

__

__Yanjun thinks about what Zhengting said for the rest of the day, his brain running it over and over like a stuck record. He’s spaced out, his head up in the clouds and not firmly attached to his shoulders as it should be. Over the course of the morning, he burns himself three times, repeatedly bumps into Dinghao, and accidentally puts on a dubstep playlist instead of the usual chill, indie music they have playing in the background._ _

__Eventually, an hour before the bakery closes, Dinghao gets fed up and kicks Yanjun out of the bakery, thrusting a cup of peppermint tea into his hands._ _

__“Go and talk to him,” He says, the mad glint in his eyes and the tone of his voice not leaving any room for argument “I can’t work with you like this, I can handle the rest of the shift better by myself.”_ _

__And so Yanjun finds himself outside of Zhangjing’s shop. He’s been here a few times before, to drop things off for Zhengting, it’s a long bus journey and a short walk from where Yanjun works, tucked into a side alley away from most of the bustle of the city._ _

__Taking a deep breath in a pointless attempt to calm himself down and stop his heart from feeling like it’s trying to crawl up his windpipe, Yanjun pushes the door open and steps inside._ _

__The inside of the shop is relatively peaceful, boxes are stacked in haphazard piles around the edge of the room and clutter litters every available surface. Glass bottles with names in a myriad of languages are arranged in neat lines on the shelves and the rickety bookshelf in the corner looks like it’s on its last legs. In the far corner, a vine grows from the floorboards and spreads up the walls and onto the ceiling. It’s like something out of a storybook, it doesn’t belong in the world of silver and glass and chrome that surrounds it._ _

__In the middle of the room is a low table, what looks like a cauldron sits in the centre of it, a fire burning underneath. There’s no fuel, instead, the flames seem to spring from nowhere, a brilliant violet, iridescent and so bright that looking at it for too long hurts Yanjun’s eyes. Next to it, a book lies open, it’s pages are battered and torn. Turned yellow by age and fragile by countless hands running across it. Zhangjing stands by the book, one hand hovering over, the other moving in lazy circles over the top of the cauldron. His eyes are shut and he’s chanting something under his breath, too quiet for Yanjun to hear._ _

__Golden light pours from the palm of Zhangjing’s hand, twisting and writhing like smoke caught in a breeze. Yanjun drops the cup of tea that he’s still carrying._ _

__Everything after that happens all at once in a blur that Yanjun can’t figure out for days afterwards. Zhangjing’s eyes spring open and he whips round to face Yanjun; the fire goes out with a faint pop; the book snaps shut; the light vanishes, fading away into nothing._ _

__“What the hell,” Yanjun says slowly “Was that.”_ _

__“It’s difficult to explain,” Zhangjing says, his expression is guarded, everything about him is closed off and unreadable._ _

__“Try me.”_ _

__Zhangjing shifts slightly, taking a step backwards as if he’s preparing to bolt from the room “I don’t know where to start.”_ _

__The silence after is so thick that it’s almost tangible. Filling the space between them like a gossamer veil of spiders webs. Somewhere, at the periphery of the room, a clock counts out the seconds._ _

__Moving slowly, as if he’s afraid to make a sound, Zhangjing sits down on the bench next to the table, crossing his legs in front of him and gesturing for Yanjun to sit as well. Yanjun does, but he feels awkward, unsure, like he’s intruding in a stranger’s house. Which, he thinks to himself, he is._ _

__“I’m a witch.” It comes out garbled and rushed. Like a breath that Zhangjing has been holding in for too long._ _

__“What?” Yanjun is half convinced that he misheard him, except-_ _

__“I’m a witch,” Zhangjing says again. Clearer this time, and yep, there’s no chance that Yanjun misheard that._ _

__“Like in Harry Potter?” Yanjun blurts out before he can stop himself and take a moment to actually think about what Zhangjing just said, because _really_ it doesn’t make any sense at all. Not in the slightest._ _

__“Sort of, only not at all.”_ _

__“But how? Are you a witch like a smoke and mirrors party tricks type thing, or someone who makes herbal medicine and rips people off by claiming that it’s magic, or, like, someone who’s actually magic.” Yanjun is rambling slightly, the insanity of the situation suddenly catching up with his tired brain. It’s not every day that you hear something this weird said with such complete seriousness._ _

__“Actual magic,” Zhangjing says with a small smile. “Swear on my life.”_ _

__Something in Yanjun’s memories falls into place, the loose ends and unanswered questions from the last months finally tying themselves up. “That time I accidentally dropped your drink and it never fell, the plant coming back to life… Was that you?”_ _

__“You caught me red-handed,” Zhangjing holds his arms up, palms facing towards Yanjun. Burned into one of them is a symbol, an eye over a crescent moon, the lines are silvery red and they seem to glow faintly. Zhangjing notices him looking and quickly turns his hand around, dropping it back into his lap._ _

__“You could still be lying.” Yanjun says slowly “This could all be some sort of elaborate prank. Are Chengcheng and Justin behind it? Or is this Zhengting’s way to get back at me for always taking his food from the fridge?”_ _

__Instead of answering Yanjun, Zhangjing closes his eyes and tilts his head back slightly. Hands facing upwards and everything about him unnaturally still, like he’s been carved from marble. There’s a faint rustling noise above Yanjun’s head and he glances up. The vine in the corner is slowly spreading across the ceiling and as he watches, pale grey paintwork vanishes behind green and brown. Flowers bloom in a delicate sweep of pastel pink and blood red, petals folding outwards like stars appearing in the night sky. Tendrils reach down, forming intricate spirals, some of them brushing against Zhangjing’s head, but he doesn’t move. He looks oddly serene._ _

__“Is that enough proof.” His voice is rough and scratchy, an octave deeper than normal, and when he opens his eyes they’re tar black. The pupils are blown so wide that they’ve swallowed the iris and the whites of his eyes whole._ _

__“Oh.” Is all that Yanjun can manage to say._ _

__The atmosphere breaks and Zhangjing blinks hard, once, twice, until his eyes return to normal. There’s a blush creeping across his cheeks. “Sorry, that was a bit dramatic. I didn’t scare you did I?”_ _

__“No, it was,” Yanjun pauses, searching for the right word. “Amazing. But how can magic exist.” It’s not something that fits into Yanjun’s perception of the world, it doesn’t make sense with the laws of physics and everything that he had always thought was real._ _

__“There’s not really a way to explain it.” Zhangjing shrugs “And no one’s really sure, the simplest explanation is,” He picks up few sheets of paper from where they lie scattered across the table “There are hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions, of different realities all existing in the same place at the same time, all right on top of each other. Some beings have the ability to cross between them.” He sticks a pencil through the centre of the sheet, the paper tears with a faint crackle. “In places, the realities bleed through into each other, and there’s a transfer of power. A few people, like me, are able to harness that power and use it.”_ _

__“That makes almost no sense,” Yanjun says blankly and Zhangjing laughs, his shoulders shaking slightly._ _

__“Don’t worry, I don’t understand it either.”_ _

__“You didn’t have to explain all this to me,” Yanjun isn’t sure why he’s backtracking now, all he’s going to achieve from it is perhaps more embarrassment. Maybe if he’s annoying enough Zhangjing will cast some sort of spell on him and turn him into a worm._ _

__“I wanted to. And you would've found out eventually, this seemed as good of a time as any.”_ _

__“What do you mean I would’ve found out eventually?”_ _

__“I mean,” Zhangjing worries at his bottom lip with his teeth, all traces of magic gone, carried away like dandelion puffs on the wind. He’s the same Zhangjing that came into the bakery every morning, the one that Yanjun knows. “I kinda, uh, really like you. And I was going to ask you if you wanted to go out sometime?”_ _

__“Like on a date?”_ _

__“No, I wanted to go out as friends so that I can stare at you the whole time and wish that it wasn’t a platonic thing. _Yes on a date_.”_ _

__“Okay. I’d really like that.”_ _

__Zhangjing stares at him, stunned “That’s it?” He asks, “I don’t have to persuade you, or give you time to consider it or whatever?”_ _

__“What can I say? You have me under a spell.”_ _

__Zhangjing groans, covering his face with his hands “Zhengting was right, you’re insufferable.”_ _

__Realisation dawns on Yanjun in the same way that a tsunami hits an unexpecting house. Sudden and crushing and in a rush of icy cold. “Wait, if you’re magic, and this is some sort of magic shop, and Zhengting works here then…”_ _

__Zhangjing reaches over and pats him on the shoulder consolingly “Don’t think about it too hard.”_ _

__

__

__A week later, Yanjun kisses Zhangjing goodbye outside of the bakery._ _

__“I’ll see you this evening.” He says, their fingers are twined together, slowly turning red in the bitter chill of the early autumn morning._ _

__“See you.” Zhangjing matches Yanjun’s smile as he pulls away._ _

__

__Inside the bakery, Dinghao grins wickedly and turns to Chaoze, his hand held out “You owe me twenty bucks.” He says, “Cough up.”_ _

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!! any feedback is appreciated  
> [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/IoveIines)


End file.
